Egesgríman
by FeathersandBones
Summary: They should've known history doesn't always repeat itself. That the sense of security was false. So why were they here, watching the world turn cold and starless? It was supposed to be over! England felt the glass shatter beneath him and the blood start to run. Saw them scream. He couldn't hear. He didn't care. They weren't supposed to be there. None of them. T for Language.
1. Chapter 1

**I am going to apologise now for all those who were reading the first version of this story. I wrote most of that at the end of the last school year and a bit into the summer and it was going great. However, I unfortunately lost someone very close and dear to me over the summer and since then have found it hard to get inspired to write or do anything really. Along with that, the school year is well underway and I have had a lot on my plate when it comes to my studies; between jobs and colleges and shit everything fun has kind of gone out the window for me. However, I have decided to start again with this story. I kind of felt like I had nowhere to go with the last version, so I actually planned out quite a bit into the future with this one and I'm excited to write again. Thank you all who read the first version of this and who left such wonderful comments and supported me. I hope you all like this one as much as the last, if not more, and will continue to give me useful feedback. **

**As always, Percy Jackson and the Olympians was created by By Rick Riordan. Hetalia was created by ****Hidekazu Himaruya. **

Chapter 1

If We Could Just Get Some Damn Peace, Please

America really didn't enjoy meetings.

Being in Tortona, Italy and eating delicious food was nice.

But meetings were not.

Not even small, "informal" meetings, like the one he was sitting in at that moment.

America leaned over the table and rested his head in his hands, trying and failing to shake off the drowsiness that had followed him off the plane and into Italy.

Wait. No. Not like _into _Italy. Like. Into Italy.

Ugh.

America hated meetings.

Beside him, Greece sighed and fingered the table cloth. Italy and Romano sat across from them and, as the four waited for their food to arrive, the brothers exchanged hushed words. Most of them America couldn't make out, as the Italies spoke mostly, well, in Italian. A few words, however, were very familiar.

Words like _monstrum, bellum, mortem._

Latin was supposed to be a dead language, but America had heard it so many times in the back of his head the past few years; heard those very words so many times; that he could feel random people across his country suddenly having the urge to learn it.

And don't even get him started on greek.

Damn, he was so tired.

When the food finally came the conversation died away, but no one, not even America or Italy, had much of an appetite. Romano pushed his plate away with a huff and rested his hands on the table, folded neatly. He stared at Greece and America, and then at his brother who was playing with his fork.

"So," Romano said and his voice was soft so that no other guests in the restaurant could hear him. Even if he was speaking in english, one could never be too careful. "You're-a probably wondering-a why _mio fratello _and I called you here."

America simply nodded and stared at his pasta. Any other time he might have found it appetizing, but as he stared at it, all he could see was the blood from so many wars as he looked at the red sauce that covered the food. Greece seemed to agree with him and pushed at his food with his fork before promptly settling for his water instead. Romano unfolded and then folded his hands again, looking agitated.

"There have-a been...voices... coming from-a the ruins."

America looked up.

"Specifically from-a the ones in-a _Roma_," Romano continued. "And both _Veneziano_ and I have been-a experiencing strange feelings; chills, tremors. People have been-a reporting strange..err...sightings." He shook his head and fell silent. Italy remained quiet and stared at Greece. America looked back down at his plate.

He should tell them. He really should tell them.

"I've been having dreams," he murmured after the silence got to be too much. The others stared at him, silently willing him to go on. America took a deep breath. "I keep seeing flashes of battles and of different...demigods. Like I'm seeing parts of their dreams." He paused. "It's like what happened with the last wars."

He really shouldn't have told them.

As bad as the looks of terror his Italian counterparts gave him were, they were nothing compared to the look of grief and fear that washed over Greece's tired eyes. The older nation whispered something to himself about "hoping for even a bit of peace" before he rose from the table and beckoned for them to follow. He turned and left, leaving the other three to pay the bill. By the time America, Italy and Romano caught up with him, Greece was half way across the village.

"WHAT-A THE FUCK, _GRECIA_?!"

Italy desperately tried to calm his elder brother before they attracted too much attention. Greece seemed unaffected by Romano's outburst and he quickly motioned for them to follow him behind a few houses and out of the public eye. America had the sudden feeling of being watched, but forgot about it as soon as Greece spun around and placed his hands on America's shoulders.

"I had hoped," he said slowly. "for at least a century of peace."

Italy and Romano fell silent behind America. Greece lowered his hands until they hung limply at his sides.

"It has only been a few years and already I can feeling something stirring within." Greece shook his head and turned to Romano.

"You said that the voices come mostly from the Roman ruins?"

Romano nodded solemnly. Greece nodded as well and ran a hand through his hair.

"Voices have come from my ruins as well. America?"

Said country looked up.

"Will you talk with Chiron for me." Greece looked more tired than usual. "Tell him about your dreams and about what Romano has said about his ruins. It is extremely important that Chiron knows."

"Will do, bro. You can count on me."

America tried to put on a smile and give Greece a thumbs up, but a feeling of dread that had long since settled over him killed his mood.

Greece shook his head once more and sighed.

"I really must be getting home. I have many things to attend to."

"Same," Romano muttered and turned to Italy. "I'll-a head back to-a your place and gather all-a my stuff-a. I have-a some paper work to-a complete."

"Ve~ okay, _fratello._"

Italy turned and smiled at America.

"Do-a you want to-a come sightseeing with-a me?"

America smiled back. He could use a simple sightseeing break."

"Sure, bro."

Italy and America walked in relative silence, broken every once and awhile by Italy pointing out certain buildings and America giving a small sound of acknowledgment. Tortona wasn't a very extravagant city, but it was beautiful in a simple way. The people here were nice and everything seemed peaceful.

_I could hang here for a few years, _America thought to himself as they passed a small house with a couple of children playing out side. They waved as the two countries passed, calling out greetings in a language only Italy could truly understand. Said country waved and greeted them in return before he turned to America with a smile.

"So how-a are the children at-a your camps doing?"

America smiled.

"Good I imagine. The last time I talked to Chiron there had been very little trouble."

America really hoped it remained that way. Italy nodded and fumbled with his hands.

"Ve~ well...a few weeks ago-a...a child of-a mine was taken to-a one of your camps…."

America's smile widened as he remembered the little girl. She had come from this village if he remembered correctly. Chiron had mentioned her when he last talked to America.

_She's really quite timid, _Chiron had said. _Compared to her new siblings in the Apollo cabin, she's very quiet. Creative, though. She came up with the idea of painting murals on the stables and even helped with them. They're quite beautiful if I do say so myself._

America repeated what Chiron had told him to Italy, reassuring him that she had been claimed rather quickly and that she was settling in nicely. His friend beamed and America noticed his step became just a bit bouncier.

"Ve~ that's-a wonderful! She was-a always so-a shy…"

They walked for about an hour, Italy babbling on and on about this and that with America putting in his own two cents whenever his friend paused. It was peaceful and both nations soon forgot what they had come here for in the first place. All thoughts of war had left their minds and, for the first time in a long time, America felt as though he could breathe without the taste of young blood filling his mouth. It was a stupid thought that crossed his mind just then because, as much as he hated it, he was a nation and a nation would forever have the memories of war tucked away in the depths of their minds. But maybe….just for a little while...America could feel completely and absolutely at peace.

The explosion that rocked the small town at that moment was a like a dagger to the heart of that feeling. America's world tilted and in an instant he found himself down on the ground, his vision blurry and his ears ringing. He could hear muffled screams and, through the blanket that seemed to cover his eyes, America could see people on the ground, screaming and yelling, and Italy beside him, lying on his side, eyes wide and confused. America tried to push himself up, noting the small stones piercing the skin of his palms and wincing slightly. His vision and hearing were starting to clear up and over the cries of the crowd, the nation could just make out the inhuman roars of something very large. Italy was already on his feet next to him and was looking around, trying to calm down his people. America jumped up and grasped Italy's arm. The european country turned to him, his eyes wide.

"A-Ameri-rica...wha...what-a happened?! Th-there-a was a-"

"Italy we need to go now! There are still people-"

America was cut off by another explosion. It had come from the same direction as the last. He felt the ground shake as two more rocked the town. Smoke was rising over the tops of the small houses of the town and people everywhere were running and panicking. Italy clutched his side and stumbled in the direction of the smoke.

"Italy wait!" America ran after him, steadying Italy as the nation tripped over a piece of rubble. Italy stared at him.

"Why...why are-a they attacking here...this...this-a isn't even a very important city!"

A wall of smoke hit them and America couldn't see.

Italy clutched America's arm and together they struggled through the smoke, tripping and grappling through the rubble of what were once beautiful houses. Italy was quiet and America

was too afraid to ask him if anybody had been hurt or, even worse, if there were any casualties. Instead, they leaned on each other, making their way through the mess and towards the growing sound of growling and roaring. The roars were animalistic and terrifying, sending chills down America's spine. He wasn't scared - no, of course not - but something about that sound was so… not-human. Whatever was making it was monstrous and big…

They came upon the remains of a large house; the majority of it was on fire, the rest of it practically destroyed by the explosions. A few others, similar in size and shape, stood nearby. They were in the same condition as the first and, as he stared at them, America swore he could see shadows dancing in the flames and in the wreckage. Italy's voice rose above the roar of the flames.

"These-a are some of the-a only...er...mansions in-a the town." He pointed to the one of the houses. "The-a gas tanks must-a have been set on fire or-a destroyed somehow…!"

A shadow cut him off and both nations froze in their tracks. It was through a window from the largest house that the monster emerged, unbothered by the fire that seemed to lick at its fur. The Gryphon was huge, each of its paws at least twice -no, three times- the size of America's own hand. Its sleek, black body looked blood-red against the flames and its head, oh gods its head. It looked as though someone had taken the biggest raven they could find and gave it a double shot of one of England's potions to make even bigger. It stared at them with beady, black eyes, as if assessing whether or not killing them was worth its energy. Italy coward beside America and, when he spoke, the other nation could barely hear him.

"It...its-a..._un grifone_...it...it-a must have-a b-been sent here...o-or-"

He was cut off by a horrible screeching noise as a second gryphon joined the first. It swung its head side to side before regarding the nations with a cool look. It wings were spread high above the rest of its body, gold against the smoke. Both nations took a step back and America could hear Italy tremble beside him. Blood was dripping out the side of his mouth and in his eyes a mixture of fear and fury shined. The gryphon screeched; a shrill, terrible sound that caused both nations to cover their ears. For a moment, America felt a wave of dread wash over his body, cold despite the fire that surrounded them. Would it try and attack them? He didn't have any weapons in reach (come to think of it, Italy definitely didn't either) so if a fight did break out, their chances of winning were slim.

Fortunately, the gryphon seemed to have better things to do. It leaped once into the air and with a great flap of its wings took off, disappearing from view. America and Italy watched as the other prepared to do the same, crouching low on top of the ruins of the once beautiful house. For a moment it was still, before it turned to look at them one last time. America held its gaze for what seemed like an eternity before the monster growled and jumped, taking off after its companion.

**Ta dah.**


	2. Chapter 2

The Original Title for This Chapter Sound Too Much Like an FOB Song But Oh Well

"Chiron, please, just listen."

America gripped the cell phone in his hands, his voice barely above a whisper. The bathroom of the subway seemed to be empty, but due to recent events, the nation was rightfully paranoid. America looked around. Only him and the mirror for now. On the other line he heard a sigh.

"America, I really can't talk right now. I have campers to deal with and, as important as what you have to say must be, I really can't stay and listen."

"But Chiron I nee-"

"America, really?"

America took a deep breath.

"Chiron; Italy and I were attacked. I _need _to speak with you. Greece asked me to himself."

Chiron was quiet on the other side and, for a moment, America thought he'd hung up. However, before the nation could try and call back, the other line crackled with a sigh.

"We will meet in a day. I'll contact you with details later. We cannot meet here on the island; it's too dangerous."

A soft click on the other end and the call ended.

They ended up deciding to meet somewhere in the middle of Jersey where it was not likely anyone could find them. In was early morning when America arrived at the destination; he had gotten up when it was still dark to go, to apprehensive to sleep.

The town of Annandale, although almost nothing like Tortona, struck something deep inside America. It was small, simple, and not very well known. The people there were kind, if not a bit dull. All the same, it made America wonder all the more why such a small town like Tortona had been attacked. He thought if it had anything to do with the newest halfblood in his camp that had come from Italy's small town. The nation rested his head in his hand and sighed, staring at the ground through the mesh top of the cafe table he sat at. The wrought iron was cold and covered in morning dew. The cafe had yet to open this early in the morning and the whole town seemed to be asleep; even the birds had yet to wake.

The sound of squeaky wheels cut through the silence and drew America from his worries. Chiron had a smile on his face as he wheeled slowly toward America. The nation stood to meet him and immediately felt too tall, too awkward, in front of the centaur that usually towered above him.

"Good morning, _Alfred_."

Ahh, so they were playing that game.

"Good morning, Mr. Brunner."

"Garinson, if you will," the centaur said with an easy smile. "The Mist can only do so much and it seems that the name Brunner has become a bit, err, well known among schools here in the Tri-state." He winked. "A bit risky to keep using it, don't you think?"

America smile and shook his friend's hand, offering to buy him a cup of coffee; the store had begun to open while they were talking. Chiron, instead, produced a small thermos of tea.

"My apologies, but please, get some for yourself."

They ended up sitting by the water, America with a medium laté and Chiron with his tea. An old stone art museum sat with them on the waters edge, its sign outside advertising an instalment for one of the local artists. Personally, America thought it was one of the more distinctive part of the town; the building itself had been there since the 1800s and America was quite fond of the memories he had there.

They talked for a bit about the attack, Chiron growing grim when America told him of the griffons.

"Roman griffons," it seems he said quietly and took a small sip of tea. "They tend to look similar to crows or ravens." Chiron looked quietly out at the water where ducks had begun to emerge and mingle. Finally he turned and America set his laté down, immediately missing the warmth of it in his hands.

"Tell me about your dreams, Alfred," Chiron said quietly and placed a hand on the nation's shoulder.

It was dark and it was cold; the kind of cold that seeped way down past your bones and into the very strings that held of all you together so that your body didn't fall apart in public. The strings that were so tight that if you were to sever them they would whip back and lash at anything nearby. The cold that was like a pair of shears to those strings and he could feel them slowly cutting the strings apart. Cutting him apart.

If he screamed, he could not hear it. He could not hear, or see, anything for that matter; only the sound of shears as they worked. This dream was a void and, in the darkness of it, there was only the snipping of strings and the putrid smell of death.

Light suddenly sprang from the void; tiny pinpricks of white and yellow, like beady little eyes that stared right down into his very being. He saw them sweep across the nothingness to reveal to him his own land and mountains and rivers and people, only to swallow everything up in a blinding flash. The lights became the teeth of a gaping maw, hungry and ravenous from the smell of rot that lingered after everything he knew was swept away by the light itself. They separated and sharpened as the jaws parted and a great breath sucked him in, pulling and ripping at his skin and his strings. He heard sounds for the first time. Screaming and crying and wailing, growing louder as he was dragged across the darkness and towards the light, his own screams mixing until he could no longer tell them apart.

America woke up genuinely thinking he had wet the bed, there was so much sweat. He peeled the covers off of himself and rolled out of bed. He considered grabbing his glasses, but instead stumbled straight into the bathroom. He gripped the sides of the sink and pressed his forehead to the cold surface of the mirror. He was fine. He was fine. He was fine. He was-

America doubled over and fell towards the toilet. He barely managed to lift the lid before he was sick. The smell hit his nose and he was sick again, the reminder of the smell of corpses from his dreams too much for him to handle at that moment. He felt tears in his eyes as he retched and he cried out, surprising himself with the name that came with the outburst. He felt like a child and, when his stomach was finally empty, America curled in on himself and sat on the tiled floor.

"FUCK!"

His cry echoed in the empty house. He hugged himself, his hands gripping and scratching at bear skin. He cursed again, a sob tearing escaping as his rocked.

"NO MORE! NO MORE, NO MORE, NO MORE, NO MORE!"

It became a mantra as he rocked himself, the words becoming softer and softer. America felt stupid and childish and foolish and sick. The horrid smell still hung heavy in the air, causing America to gag as he tried to flush the toilet. He stood on shaking legs and turned on the light, careful not to look at himself in the mirror. He was exhausted.

He was too afraid to sleep.

His talk with Chiron had not even been two days ago and already the dreams had started again. He placed a hand on his head and entered his bed room. Somewhere outside an owl hooted, eerie yet calming.

America knew he would not sleep anymore than night. With a sigh he put on his glasses and sat on the edge of the bed. He could watch T.V. There was bound to be a movie on or maybe some news from the other side of his country. He scowled at the thought and instead reached for his phone. He really didn't want to talk to Greece right now, but it was the best idea he could think of. Would it be daytime there? Maybe. Worth a shot.

_Brrrriiiing. Click. _"America?"

That was fast.

"Greece. H-hey, um, lis-"

"America, we need to talk."

"NO, I WON'T! I WON'T BLOODY GO THROUGH WITH IT! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! YOU CAN'T!"

America sighed and took a step back, allowing the Englishman in front of him to pace back and forth. England's (or was he going by Britain today…either way, it really didn't matter to America) hands were clenched at his side and his eyes bore into America's with such a fury that the former colony had to look away. Of course England had a right to be angry, but couldn't he at least hear America out?

If England didn't join, he and Greece were screwed. Italy and Romano, too, probably.

England _could_ back out, though. He truly did have the right to say no. He wasn't connected to this; at least, not as much as some other countries. However, if he really did say "no" and refuse…well, then that would really suck for America and the rest of the world.

England's yelling brought America back into reality.

"I CAN'T…I WON'T! I-I REFUSE!"

"England please…

"No, America! I can't afford to join this war; this, this movement. I-I…" England's voice faltered and he sat back in one of the old armchairs that inhabited the living room. Beside him, on a small table, a cup of tea sat, forgotten. America sat down across from England and crossed his legs, before quickly uncrossing them and then re-crossing them again. England stared at the America, his green eyes dull and tired. America didn't say anything, only sat and stared back. He had explained to England the situation as best he could, but England had almost immediately started yelling at him about how it was a "Bloody stupid idea that only a wanker-like-you would even think of!"

Funny, it was Greece's idea to begin with.

England's hands shifted until they held his head, covering his face. He mumbled something to himself before lifting his head to look America in the eye.

"I can't America… I don't have resources to support such a thing. I don't have the knowledge. Greek mythology is a mystery to me compared to things such as…as…"

"Shakespeare?"

England glared at him, but America only smirked.

"England, I'm not asking you for men or money. I'm asking for you. For you and your magic and your knowledge; maybe not of Greek mythology, but of war and of the world." The young nation paused as England threw him a look at the mention of magic. "As much as I hate to admit it, the only reason I'm a country today is because of you. You helped me once, and I _need_ your help again. Greece needs your help. Italy and Romano and every other country in the world need your help, even if they don't realize it yet."

England remained silent after America finished, staring at the floor. The silence drew on until a few minutes had passed by. America was almost ready to leave when England spoke.

"What will you need from me, America?"

America almost smiled, but settled for a nod. Now came the awkward part.

"To be honest, England, I don't know." He heard a growl emit from the still form across from him. "It was Greece and Chiron who asked me to ask you. But I can tell you that we will need your help and that if you don't…" America paused, and looked down. "…if you don't, more than just Greece, Italy and I will be in trouble. This isn't just about the 'heart of the west' or the Empire State Building. This is something bigger."

England looked up and swallowed. America stood and turned to the door.

"Listen, if you really don't want to, you don't ha-"

"No!"

America turned to face him. England's eyes would not move to meet his, but he took a deep breath.

"If you really need me…then I'll help. I can't just leave yo- an idiot like you to fend for yourself during a war."

America opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. For a moment, he considered staying a little longer; maybe spending a little more time with the man he used to call "brother." But in the end, he quietly opened England's front door and stepped onto the landing.

"Thank you, England. I'll call you once I know more."

No one responded, so America simply closed the door and began to walk down the long drive that led to the streets of London. A taxi was parked, waiting for him there. When he drew nearer, a man in a suit open the door and allowed him inside without a word, something America was grateful for.

England would probably go off to drink now and France would call America at three in the morning demanding why England was drunk on his door step.

America felt the car lurch forward and they began to drive off. A few drops of rain hit the window and then it began to pour.

**Haha. Disclaimer is in first chapter. FOB belongs to FOB obviously. **


End file.
